


Maid in Hightown

by Chellendora



Category: Dragon Age II
Genre: Angst, F/M, Porn With Plot, Romance, Set Up, Slavery mention, Smut, Vaginal Sex, fic trade submission, name blanks, post act 2
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-09-09
Updated: 2020-09-09
Packaged: 2021-03-07 01:48:37
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 7,153
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/26368975
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Chellendora/pseuds/Chellendora
Summary: Hawke thinks Fenris's mansion needs sprucing up, and you're the perfect person for the job.Fenris/Reader
Relationships: Fenris/Original Female Character(s), Fenris/Reader
Comments: 2
Kudos: 64





	Maid in Hightown

**Author's Note:**

> This is a submission for an informal fic trade through Lunaescence Archives via Facebook. This story goes out to Rachael Swift!

You stood outside the mansion door, chewing your lip. This was definitely the right house. The entrance was so overgrown with vegetation that one could easily walk right past it, it looked just as Hawke described. With a sigh, you lifted your fist to knock.

_“I worry about Fenris being all alone,” Hawke had said, “and he’ll never meet anyone living in that busted old place!”_

_At first you thought she intended to try to pair you with the brooding elf, a thought that excited you for a moment—but you would never dare admit it. And then Hawke brought up the real reason for coming in to see you, a lowly Hanged Man barmaid. You also did housekeeping on the side, and the Champion wanted you to take on Fenris’s mansion._

It took a few more knocks and several minutes before the door opened, revealing the striking elf behind it. His beauty was well known amongst the Kirkwall elves, yourself included; that beautiful white hair juxtaposed against the darkness of his skin was enough to take anyone’s breath away, but then he also had eyes the color of a sea about to storm, and white lines of lyrium that raced and laced intricately across his body.

He uttered your name with confusion, questioning your presence.

“Hawke hired me to get this mansion in ship shape! She didn’t tell you?”

“Apparently,” was the dry response. “There is no need, I assure you.”

“That’s up to you,” you began, “buuut…Hawke has already paid me in full. You know her better than me, would she be upset if she paid for a job that didn’t get done? Because I don’t do refunds.” You smirked.

Fenris’s lips were a thin line when he turned to look at you again, his teeth grinding together. “How much?” he practically growled. The sound sent a shiver racing up your spine, making the little hairs on your neck stand straight up.

You quickly regained your composure. “Let’s just say I would clean the Viscount’s privy for the same amount.”

Fenris sighed in defeat and stood back, allowing you entrance. As you stepped inside and looked around, you heard Fenris mutter to himself, “What is Hawke up to?”

The only mansion you had ever been in before now was Hawke’s estate. Before hiring Orana, you cleaned the place on occasion. Unlike Hawke’s foyer, which lead only to the main chamber, Fenris had three doorways leading further into the house. You assumed the double doors ahead of you, with one door cracked open, lead to the main hall.

You turned to look at Fenris. He was standing still, watching you, his face unreadable. Suddenly you felt uncertain.

“Fenris, are you sure you’re all right with this? I know I said I don’t do refunds but—”

Fenris chuckled, and the sound caught you off guard enough to make you stop talking. Had you ever heard him laugh before, even slightly? It was a nice sound, you thought.

“I apologize, it wasn’t my intention to interrupt you,” he said. You were acutely aware of how deep and smooth his voice was, like velvet rubbing against bare skin. “I daresay it isn’t good business to state you have a no refund policy and then rescind it moments later at a customer’s discomfort.”

You blinked. He was teasing you! “Actually, amending policy to satisfy a customer is excellent business. People don’t recommend people that just turn them down without trying to make things work.”

“Touché, serah,” Fenris acquiesced, a playful smirk on his lips.

You smiled, feeling suddenly taken with the elf. But you were here to do a job. “I promise to treat your home like I would any other client, if not better. No cutting corners just because we’re friends!” Your heart suddenly thudded hard in your chest, anticipating that Fenris would denounce the latter part of your statement.

But he did not. “You may treat this place as you wish, take everything out and sell it for your own pocket if you would like. Just leave me the master bedroom and the cellar.”

“You really don’t have any preference for your home?” you asked, taken aback from his attitude. It was cluttered and dusty, but the bones of the house were as good, if not better than, any you had seen in Kirkwall.

Fenris chuckled. You loved that sound, it made something in you stir and grow warm, and it felt good. “It doesn’t belong to me, in truth.” He seemed to be weighing the pros and cons of revealing such a story to you, and thought against it. “But for all intents and purposes, it belongs to me now, but I will leave it in your capable hands, serah.”

You felt a blush creep onto your cheeks and fought the urge to rub at it like a love-struck maiden. _Pull it together!_ you hissed internally. This was not like you. “Leave it to me. And Fenris? Just call me ___.”

* * *

You got to work right away, but first you had to figure out exactly where to start. Fenris was away with Hawke on whatever business it was they attended to day in and day out, leaving you to your work alone. Having almost total freedom over the estate was more overwhelming than having to keep a client’s vision in mind. It was also much easier to clean homes that were already decorated and lived in.

You decided to start by taking a tour of the premises so that you could get a feel for that layout and take a mental inventory of the furniture and other decorations available. Many of the rooms were furnished but the furnishings were covered in sheets, concealing mildewed cushions and termite eaten chair legs.

It wasn’t lost on you how many pieces were of clear Tevinter origin, down to dusty Tevinter banners for a dinning hall’s walls. You heard the whispers, of course, the ones that said Fenris was an escaped slave and that this mansion belonged to his master. It was such a persistent rumor you were almost inclined to believe it, but it seemed so farfetched. Finding the Tevinter items now felt like confirmation.

You shivered, goose pimples raising along your arms. You couldn’t imagine life as a slave, much less one on the run. But if he were running, why squat in his former master’s house? Was he waiting for him?

You wished you could ask Fenris, but the questions were too personal for your current relationship, which was barely above a client-customer formality.

_Maybe that’ll change_ , came a thought unbidden, already heard before you could dismiss it. _Since when did you become so juvenile?_ You demanded of yourself.

Rumors of Fenris’s origins wasn’t the only reason you recognized the Tevinter designs. You had grown up with a small knowledge of the country because your father was an escaped Tevinter slave too. You still wore a piece of his slave collar on a chain around your neck, nestled into your undershirt where no one would see it. Your hand went to it now, feeling the hard metal through the fabric of your tunic. Your father didn’t want to forget where he came from so that he would always appreciate what he had in the present. He said that until his dying day, and you made the pendant then to remind yourself of what he endured so you could live a better life.

Though sometimes you wondered how much better living in the squalor of Kirkwall really was, but you did have your freedom. You knew you should never take that for granted. Even if that freedom currently included sweeping years of dust into piles. By the time you were finished with the first floor there were too many piles to count, and you set to work consolidating them into one giant pile to be swept into the side alley with the rest of the refuse you had gathered while sweeping.

Several hours into the first day and you were already drenched with sweat and covered with a thick layer of dust. Any attempt to wipe your face clean only smudged it further, so you sighed and gave up. You would have to wash up quickly before your shift at the Hanged Man, but it wasn’t likely you would have time to visit the bathhouse.

There was a chuckle behind you and you jumped, whirling around to see Fenris standing in the entryway to the alley. He was clad in black leather armor, a huge sword slung over his back. You wondered how he was able to lift something so large, let alone wield it effectively.

“I’m the one who has been fighting bandits in the street yet you’re the one who looks like it,” he explained, an amused smile on his face. It made your heart beat faster, and a blush rushed to your cheeks.

“Well, serah, taking on your home is about like fighting bandits!” you exclaimed, stamping the worst of the muck from your shoes before stepping back inside. You had no idea what facing bandits was like, of course, but you wouldn’t be perturbed. “When was the last time you even opened some of these rooms to the air?”

“Never,” he responded truthfully as he followed you inside. “I’ve had no need of the entire house.” He undid his weapons belt and swung the sword around to set it against the wall. He rolled his shoulders a few times and cracked his neck. You noticed now that he was dusty, with a growing bruise on his cheek.

“Are you all right?” you asked. “Do you need anything?”

He looked at you sharply, deciding that your questions were only altruistic and shook his head. “No, I am fine.”

You chewed on your bottom lip, considering him. He seemed different since you spoke earlier, more troubled. You almost asked if something happened, but thought better of it. “I’ve done a lot, but I wasn’t able to touch the upstairs yet. I’m afraid I must get going though, serah. My shift at the Hanged Man starts in a couple of hours and I need to try to get some of this dust off.” You held your hands up, showing the layers of dust that discolored them and dug under your nails.

“You look as if you’ve been through the Deep Roads,” he said. “My restroom facilities are efficient and open to you, ___.”

You felt your face flush immediately. “Oh, n-no, I couldn’t possibly—”

“Why not?” Fenris asked flatly. “It’s a restroom you can use. I promise there is nothing promiscuous behind my offer.” He smirked then, and a lock of white hair slipped from behind his ear to fall into his face. Maker, he was handsome.

If your cheeks burned any hotter you were sure they would combust, but you couldn’t deny that it would be nice to use a mansion’s washroom instead of the public bathhouse between here and work. “If you’re sure…”

“I wouldn’t have offered.” Fenris waved for you to follow, turning to lead the way through the house.

“I really appreciate it,” you said, strolling after him. You tried to ignore how quickly your heart was beating inside your chest. “Corff gives me the worst customers if I show up late or dusty,” you explained. “And since I’m almost always cleaning before work that happens more often than not.” You sighed. “I wish I could make enough with my cleaning business to stop working for that pig.” You realized you were babbling and looked up at Fenris as you climbed the stairs, “Oh, I’m sorry to ramble.”

He chuckled, the sound sending a chill down your spine. “In fact, I do not mind it.” He crested the stairs and gestured to a room on the right. “The washroom is through there, take as long as you need. I’ll be in my…study, I guess you could call it.” He meant the master bedroom across from the stairs, which he had basically turned into an apartment.

“Thank you, serah,” you said, turning to curtsy to him but he shook his head.

“None of that, and Fenris is fine.”

_Fenris is fine_ , echoed in your head as you stepped into the washroom and shut the door behind you. You stood there for a moment, catching your breath. Fenris _was_ fine, and he had your heart doing acrobatics you never experienced before. You saw the elf in the Hanged Man almost every night and never felt these weird stirrings in your belly, but now being in his presence without a bar full of patrons felt downright intimate.

There was a basin of water at the foot of the small bed. A dresser sat across from this basin underneath the window overlooking the courtyard below, but other than that the room was empty. You pulled the old curtain to on the window and coughed at the cloud of dust this created. You would definitely need to attend to the second floor tomorrow.

You stripped from your clothing and went about beating it clean. Once it was acceptable—which meant not actually clean but had the overall appearance of being so—you crossed to the basin and used the water to rid your body of the dust. You redressed, used a little of the water to smooth down your hair, and then left the washroom feeling refreshed.

The door to the master bedroom was ajar and you could see the flicker of the fire on the red walls, tall shadows stretching across the room as the hour drew later. You tentatively opened the door more fully and cleared your throat.

Fenris was sitting in a chair in front of the fireplace, a glass in hand. An open bottle sat on the small table between him and an empty chair. When you made noise, he turned to look at you. “Ah, refreshed?” You nodded. “Do you have time to join me for a drink, serah?”

You had a lot of time, in fact, since you no longer had to make a side trip to the bathhouse until after work. “I do, thank you.” You sat in the chair next to him when he gestured and accepted a second goblet. He had filled it modestly, respectful of the fact that you had to work that evening. “What is it?” you asked, bringing the cup up to inhale. The aroma hit your senses like a thunderbolt, rolling out memories and sensations of memories you didn’t even realize you’d forgotten.

“Tevinter wine,” he responded, watching your reaction. “Agreggio. Do you know it?”

“My father used to drink this on special occasions,” you responded, fighting back the tears that sprang to your eyes. You swiped at your eyes. “I’m sorry. I was just…taken off guard is all.” You swallowed hard and breathed deeply, regaining control of your emotions and bringing calmness back to your demeanor.

Fenris was watching you, his deep forest green gaze penetrating yours with a ferocious curiosity. “Your father…was he Tevinter?” He asked the question quietly.

“Slave,” you responded. “He escaped to Kirkwall over forty years ago with my mother. She died having me though.” You looked down at the goblet in your hand, studying the dark red liquid. You didn’t speak openly with people very often, Hawke being one of the rare exceptions. Fenris always seemed so intimidating, but now you found that you wanted to talk to him, if he wanted to listen.

“I’m sorry, I shouldn’t bore you with my family tragedy.” You smiled wryly and took a sip of the Agreggio. It was good, very good.

“I do not think it’s boring,” Fenris replied. “In fact, it’s comforting to hear that another slave was able to escape and have a family, a different life.” His gaze was far away, contemplating some introspection that must have been plaguing his soul for some time. Seeming to realize he was going too far away, he reeled himself in by looking at you again. “Where is your father?”

“Dead.” The word dropped from your lips like a stone. “Killed in the Qunari uprising half a year ago.” Your hand went to your neck and you paused, then proceeded to pull the piece of slave collar you wore to show Fenris. “This is all I have left of him now.”

This seemed to anger Fenris. He snatched the bottle from the side table and refilled his cup, downing it in one swig and then refilling it again. “Damn the Maker, we tried,” he grunted through his teeth, glaring into the fire.

You knew what he was talking about, it was why Hawke was known as the Champion of Kirkwall now. She, Fenris, and their companions stopped the Arishok when the uprising happened. If it hadn’t been for them, Kirkwall would belong to the Qun now, and many more would be dead, more than likely including you. Your father had unfortunately been in the wrong place at the wrong time. You said as much to Fenris, but it fell on deaf ears. He was brooding now, lost in the fire.

“Your father came here to live a different, better life, and he was still killed by an oppressor,” he said quietly, almost as if he were afraid of his words.

“He was killed by a thug taking advantage of the chaos, Fenris,” you replied just as quietly. “And he did live a better life. And he ensured one for me.” You downed what was left in your goblet and set it on the table before standing. “Thank you so much for the drink. I have to get going now, but I’ll be back in the morning to continue working.”

“You realize it really isn’t necessary for you to clean this mansion? It isn’t even mine,” Fenris said, looking up at her with a calmer expression now.

“We’ve already been through this, Fenris,” you tutted, shaking a finger at him. “And besides, you’re going to want to keep this place once I’m done with it.” You winked, a daring gesture for you, but perhaps the wine loosened you up. You bid farewell and left the mansion, a spring in your step you couldn’t recall ever having before.

* * *

The Hanged Man was slow tonight, and you were glad for it. It was a long time since a cleaning job left you feeling sore and aching afterward, but here you were. Lifting a tray of mugs had your arms screaming for mercy. Setting the tray down at its intended table came with a wave of relief rushing down your arm.

“Maker, ___, you look exhausted,” said the patron at the table and you blinked. You’d just delivered drinks to Hawke and her companions Varric and Isabela without even realizing it.

“I am,” you admitted, setting their drinks in front of them one by one. “I don’t think anything you said could have prepared me for just how filthy Fenris’s mansion is.”

“No one said you had to try to clean the damn thing in one day,” Hawke teased.

“I didn’t.” You looked over at the bar to see if Corff had any more drinks ready, but he was wiping glasses, so you sat down at Hawke’s table temporarily. “I dusted the first floor.”

“The first floor of one of the largest houses in Hightown, Bumblebee,” Varric laughed. “That hasn’t been touched in who knows how long? No one is quite sure when the last time this Lord Danarius was actually in town.”

“So it’s true,” you ventured, “Fenris’s house belongs to his former master.”

“Indeed,” Varric confirmed grimly. “The wolf lays in wait to exact his revenge. Quite the bitter pill to swallow.” As if to make his point, his took a large gulp of his drink.

“Wasn’t your dad an escaped Tevinter slave?” Isabela asked you bluntly. There was no way to tell if this bravado came from drink or simply Isabela’s brazen personality. “That makes you and Fenris like kissing cousins, donnit?” Definitely drink this time.

“Time to switch to water, love,” Hawke grinned endearingly at Isabela and then turned her attention back to you. “Maybe that’s a little bit of why I chose you for Fenris—I mean for his house, to clean his house. Because you clean. Houses.” Hawke’s face fell, realizing her façade had shattered.

“You little rat!” you exclaimed, redness popping out on your cheeks. But you weren’t angry, in fact you were flattered, and your heart raced excitedly in your chest. “All of this was to set me and Fenris up? What even makes you think either of us are interested?”

You knew your question was ridiculous by the looks of incredulity around the table. You always had been one to wear your heart on your sleeve. But Fenris?

“He doesn’t say so, but we’ve all noticed him watching you in the bar for awhile,” supplied Varric.

“That doesn’t mean anything,” you said, more to squash your own evolving hope than anything. It was as though your feelings for Fenris was a seed in your heart and now it was receiving light and water after so long in the dark. It was bursting forth with warmth and color. “Men watch barmaids all the time.”

“Not Fenris,” Isabela replied, and you knew she was right, drunk or not.

You tried not to let this new revelation seep into your work on the mansion. Most of the time this was easy: Fenris spent the majority of his days with Hawke and when he returned in the evenings you only had a couple of hours before you had to be at the tavern. Ever since that first evening it became a routine to share a cup of the Agreggio with him before you left. Your conversations ranged in topic from Varric’s stories to what you thought about Andraste and the Maker.

It felt good to have someone to talk to, to unwind with, and it became harder and harder to turn down that second cup to go to your second job.

When it came to the mansion you decided you had to tackle it room by room. Trying to take an inventory of everything was overwhelming, breaking it down into puzzle pieces to fit together at the end would be easier. You started with the washrooms, the downstairs bedrooms, the dining hall, and the main hall.

This left the kitchen as the last room on the ground floor, the most ambitious of all, but also the room you looked forward to getting into operating order the most. You loved to cook, but your current abode in Lowtown left you limited to stews and soups that usually became communal, or the slop the Hanged Man liked to label as edible.

Your father often said he learned one valuable thing in Tevinter, and that was good taste in food. He taught you about blending different herbs and spices to complement or downplay certain flavors. It was a fun game to see what new tastes you could discover. You couldn’t remember the last thing you cooked with your father, for the sheer joy of creation, before he died.

You wanted to make something for Fenris, an excuse to cook again.

When it came to finding the ingredients, you enlisted help from Varric. He gave you a list of the best vendors in town, as well as his name to get a more than fair price on everything. He also ensured that Fenris wouldn’t return home too early, or too late. He said something about “or too bloody” under his breath, but you chose to ignore it.

You visited a dozen vendors to get every ingredient needed for your dish, a sirloin steak in shallot sauce accompanied by mixed greens, mashed potatoes, and garlic bread. So much of the items were seen as a luxury, reserved for nobles’ handlers to purchase first. You got what was left over from the day’s rush, and were grateful for that. Even that was already an exponential improvement on the quality of ingredients you and your father had, and everything you made then had been delicious regardless.

Very quickly you discovered that you loved cooking in Fenris’s kitchen. It was spacious and had everything a chef might possibly need. Imagining it stocked with a full store of foodstuffs had your mind racing at the possibilities, but you reminded yourself that you were not becoming the cook of this estate, simply making one dinner. But you enjoyed every second of making it, humming and swinging your hips as you chopped, minced, stirred, and tasted.

In lieu of the dining room, you set up a small table in the master bedroom Fenris was residing in, thinking it would be the most comfortable place. You used the chairs by the fire and placed the table in front of it, close enough to feel its warmth but not so close you drew hot and drowsy. You had just finished bringing up the last of the food, covered in fancy silver trays (that you had unabashedly used as a mirror to pretend you were nobility) when you heard the door downstairs opening and closing with a loud slam. You jumped, dropping the silverware you were holding. You caught it deftly before it could fall to the ground and placed it on the table in its place.

You turned to the door as it opened and Fenris entered, his hands working to undo the broadsword slung over his shoulders. He set it down with a clunk in the corner and then seemed to take notice of you, and the table.

“What is…?” he trailed off, obviously confused enough to be at a lack for words.

You chuckled. It was adorable to see the usually serious and surefire man look surprised. His green eyes looked brighter. “It’s dinner, that’s what.” You turned to uncover the largest tray, revealing the steaks underneath. “I cooked it myself,” you admitted, feeling a blush creeping up your neck, “so hopefully it’ll be okay,” you amended.

He smiled ruefully. “So this is why the dwarf was determined to delay me.” He stepped up to the table and looked over your presentation. “It looks and smells amazing, ___, but why cook for me?” He looked at your over his shoulder. He was genuinely bewildered by the sentiment.

Your blush deepened as the truest reason floated across your mind: _Because I like you,_ but out loud said, “This house has a magnificent kitchen and it’s been a long time since I got to cook something _good_.” You moved around the table to your chair and looked at him again, gesturing for him to come sit down.

After another moment of blinking the bewilderment from his eyes, he acquiesced and moved to sit across from you. Before taking your own seat you took up a pair of tongs and served the meal onto the plates in equal portion. The steam from the food rose up and warmed your arms and face when you leaned to place Fenris’s food on his plate. He looked at it admirably, a wry smile on his face.

“Is something wrong, Fenris?” you asked, suddenly anxious. You sat in your chair, placing a napkin over your lap.

“You learned to cook and serve from your father, did you not?” he asked. The question was casual, but you felt a weight to it.

“Yes, how did you know?”

“Because this is a popular dish from Tevinter, and you served it how a Vint servant would be expected to,” he explained flatly, no emotion to give away what he was feeling as he looked down at the food. “Except there’s many things you would have been admonished and punished for doing incorrectly.”

You felt something heavy drop in your stomach. It had never occurred to you that your father would be teaching you Tevinter recipes and habits, but it should have; it’s what he knew. You only hoped that you didn’t offend Fenris. “I’m sorry, Fenris, I didn’t realize—”

He shook his head, holding up a hand to stay you. “It is all right, simply surreal for my old home and new home to collide in this way.” He took a deep breath and looked up at you with eyes that were almost pleading. “Forgive me? I would very much like to enjoy this meal you prepared…with you.”

There was no hiding it from yourself any longer, you were completely taken with Fenris. Yes, he was a man handsome beyond measure with his white hair, dark skin and those depthless green eyes, but he was also so _vulnerable_. He was kind, and inquisitive. He was intelligent and empathetic. It was something wholly unexpected from the brooding elf that accompanied Hawke on her adventures.

He fetched a bottle of the Agreggio to go with the dinner, and you were delighted to actually have the proper wine paired with the meal. You said as much to Fenris and he smiled at your enthusiasm, asking what other things your father taught you.

You tentatively asked questions about Tevinter as well, steering clear of any mentions of his master. But Danarius came up anyway, and each time he did Fenris’s goblet seemed to get deeper and deeper until he was quite obviously inebriated.

You weren’t interested in being around a drunk man as you did it almost every night for a living. You started to gently steer the conversation toward resolution, beginning to stack the empty dishes on top of one another to take down to the kitchen before you left. Fenris caught onto this and suddenly reached out to grasp your wrist. His grip wasn’t painful, but it was firm.

“Wait. Are you leaving?”

“I should get going,” you said nonchalantly. “But I’m going to take care of these first.” You went to step away from him with the plates, but he didn’t relinquish your wrist, nor had he stopped looking up at you with an expression that was complex, to say the least.

“Fenris?”

“Don’t leave,” he suddenly said in a rush. He stood without letting go of your hand, and you nearly dropped the stack of dishes. You managed to slide them onto the table and stepped back, your heart pounding as you looked up at Fenris. “Don’t leave,” he said again when he had your gaze locked in his, though softer. You didn’t look away, mesmerized by the green of his eyes and their intensity, but your subconscious continued to scream a warning that he was over the edge.

Fenris suddenly leaned forward, attempting to close the distance between his lips and yours. At the last second you turned your head and his lips rubbed along your cheek. Your nerves fired off like cannons at war, but you ignored the sensations his touch evoked to pull yourself away.

This frustrated him and he turned away from you, a growl ripping from his throat as he did. “Damn it, ___. Is this not what you want?” he demanded, jerking his head to look at you over his shoulder.

“Not this way!” you exclaimed, your heart pounding in your ribcage like it was trying to escape. “Not this way,” you repeated quietly and retreated from the room. When you reached the top of the stairs you began to run, and when you reached the door to the alley and the cold night air hit your face, you began to cry.

* * *

You didn’t turn up for your shift at the Hanged Man that night, and you didn’t return to Fenris’s mansion until two days later. Two days was how long it took you to analyze what happened with Fenris, meditate on how you felt, and then come to a conclusion. Hawke had come by the first day and spoke her piece. She knew things about Fenris you never could have guessed, and your heart was broken by the end of the conversation. When Hawke left that evening, you sat in front of your meager fireplace and cried giant crocodile tears into your stew.

Your mind was made up the morning of the second day, but you wanted to be sure. You took a long walk along the docks, visited some friends, and dropped by work to make your apologies to Corff and beg for your job. He gave you a hard time, but he was never going to fire you.

As the evening approached, you decided it was now or never. Your heart hadn’t seemed to slow down to regular speed since you woke up that morning.

Reaching Fenris’s mansion felt simultaneously like the longest and shortest walk you ever took. You stood outside the main door for a few minutes, breathing deeply and deliberately exhaling the breaths in an attempt to calm your nerves before you went inside.

You wouldn’t be here if Hawke hadn’t come by to speak on Fenris’s behalf. She didn’t excuse his aggressive behavior, but she helped you to understand his feelings and why he reacted as he did. She was, after all, his closest friend and confidant. Who would know him best? And you would be lying if you said you didn’t want to run back to him several times since the incident, but you had your scruples.

Yet here you were now, quietly climbing the main staircase with your fingertips brushing along the banister. You made as little noise as possible, your eyes trained on the cracked door to Fenris’s room. You could see the flicker of firelight inside, but that was all.

You hesitated outside the door for a long time, but finally knocked firmly once. Twice.

“Come in,” came the deep reply. He sounded sullen.

You entered the room cautiously, your heart racing at your imminent encounter. Fenris was sitting in front of the fire in one of the high-backed chairs, turned away from the entrance so he was unable to see who entered. He didn’t turn to see either.

“If you need me for some quest I’m not available,” he said ruefully. “I have an appointment.”

“With who?” you asked, your voice so quiet you wondered if he would even hear you.

But he did. He was on his feet and whirled around to look at you in a moment, his eyes wide with shock. You had caught him completely unaware. “___.”

Hearing your name in his dulcet tones sent shivers down your spine. “Fenris, I…think we need to talk. About the other evening.”

He looked down, nodded. “Yes, of course.” You could tell he already feared the worst.

“You came on so strongly it scared me,” you admitted, holding your wrist in your other hand, keeping your arms straight. You still trembled. You could confront a drunk in the bar any day but opening up to someone you cared about was like trying to open oysters with your bare hands.

“I’m surprised you came back,” he said, and the tone of hurt bewilderment in his voice made you long to envelope him in your arms, but you resisted.

“Because I care about you, Fenris,” you said candidly, heart thudding so hard you felt almost out of breath. “But your aggression made me worried.”

“I have poor control when I…become inebriated,” he admitted ashamedly. “The lyrium rushing through my blood is like constant shots of adrenaline. Alcohol numbs it somewhat, but if I drink too much it has the opposite effect.” He looked up at you now, his eyes finding yours. The green was so bright, his soul open, his brow knit with worry. “I regret that you were in the path of it, ___, because I care very much about you.”

You let yourself go to him now, wrapping your arms around his neck and pulling him to you so that your head rested in the crook of his neck and shoulder. His arms came around your back instantly, returning the embrace firmly. He leaned his head against yours and released a deep breath.

“Thank you…for coming back,” he murmured.

“I want to be with you, Fenris. To do that I have to be here.” You smiled and he chuckled slightly.

“I will do better at containing my anger,” he stated resolutely, his embrace on you tightening. “I promise you that.”

“I promise to be patient with you,” you said in return, “I want to understand you. So let me in, okay? At your own pace, but let me in. That’s the only promise I need.”

“Then I promise to never shut you out, ___.”

His body was warm and firm against your softer form, and you fit together comfortably. The heat from the fireplace was nothing compared to the fire that was burning inside your heart at this moment. It was remarkable that you could fall for this man in such a short time, and even more so that he returned the feeling.

One of your hands slid down his neck, along his shoulder, and gripped his forearm. This got his attention, and he pulled back to look down at you. His lips parted, your name a question on his tongue, but you silenced it with a kiss. Electric heat raced to every nerve ending in your body and back again when he returned the gesture, bending you slightly backward with the force of his enthusiasm.

Somehow, you ended up on the bed in the corner, Fenris hovering over you, one hand cupping the back of your neck to support your head as you kissed. Your hands roamed his body, enjoying the sinuous feel of his muscles along his arms and back, his near perfectly sculpted stomach, and finally around to his buttocks. You grabbed with both hands, squeezing the only part of him that had a little jiggle to it.

Fenris laughed at your action, a genuine sound of humor and affection. The kiss broken now, he focused on other parts of your body. His hands slid down your torso, pausing on your breasts. He ran his thumbs experimentally over your nipples and you lightly gasped, feeling them harden instantly, almost painfully, at his touch. His hands made it to your hips and pushed up under your top, pushing it upward.

Palms cupped your breasts again, this time without interference of fabric. His hands felt hot against your soft flesh, the pads of his thumbs rough against your sensitive nipples. Heat was already pooling between your legs. You started to squirm.

Fenris paid no mind to your wiggling. Or maybe he was enjoying the teasing, because he didn’t stop. He dipped his head and engulfed a breast in his mouth, his tongue darting out to flick at your hardened tip. His soft white hair tickled your chest as he moved from one to the other, administrating equally to both until you were ready to scream with frustration.

You tangled your hands in his hair and forced him upward to kiss you again. Sitting up, you placed your hands on his shoulders and pushed him back onto the bed, taking your turn to explore his body now. You peeled away his clothing layer by layer and he rid you of your skirt and undergarments. Finally, the two of you were bare and gazing at one another in the fading light of the evening. You could feel the lustful gaze in your eyes and see it in his. His eyes were glazed like glass.

You leaned over him and kissed again, starting slow and deepening it until your mouths were desperately claiming dominance over the other. You reached between your bodies and grasped his penis in your hand, feeling how hard it already was from the foreplay. It stiffened further in your grasp as you began to stroke it up and down, slowly and gently at first and then faster and faster, but always keeping a steady rhythm. Now Fenris writhed beneath you, and he broke the kiss to throw his head back and moan. You admired the dramatic cut of his jaw and the line of this throat, and kissed him there.

“Keep that up and I will be finished,” he growled deep in his throat and you chuckled.

“Then come take me before that happens, Fenris,” you replied.

Fenris did not have to be told again. He grabbed you and tossed you onto your back again, eliciting a surprised and delighted yelp from you. In seconds he was between your legs, his hands placed on either side of your head.

He gazed down at you. His white hair was framing his face, his green eyes almost glowing in the shadows of his bangs. He did not break this eye contact with you as he deliberately pushed forward, his cock spreading your folds and taking its entry. He didn’t stop until he was fully sheathed inside you.

He released a shuttering groan and began to move.

You clawed at his back, grabbed at his arms, ran your fingers through his hair, anything to try to help with the overwhelming sensation of him pounding within you so sensationally. All nerves were firing. You would later be glad the windows were shut to your moans and grunts of pleasure.

When you pulled your knees toward your head and gripped Fenris’s ribs, you felt the change immediately. Something was building in your core, growing more and more chaotic until you would have to let it free. Fenris’s pace became erratic, less measured, until he grunted, “I’m almost there, ___. What should I—?”

“In me, Fenris,” you exhaled, grabbing both sides of his head and kissing him roughly. “I want all of you.”

This sent him over the edge. His forehead pressed against your collar bone as he rode out his orgasm, almost screaming in the pleasure of the release. His deep exaltations sent you careening over the edge, joining him in unabashed bliss.

You laid tangled on the bed until it was pitch dark outside and the moon had risen past the windows. Fenris idly ran his fingers through your hair, your cheek resting against his chest. You ran your fingers along his lyrium marks, curious at how smooth they felt. It was a moment of complete ecstasy, and you never wanted it to end.

“So…are you still going to clean my house?”

You looked up to see a sly grin on Fenris’s face, and smirked back. “Well, I was paid for a job under false pretenses. I could just take the money and the fuck and run. But I think I’ll stick around, if that’s okay with you. I kind of like being a maid in Hightown. It comes with sweet benefits.” You winked.

“I believe it can be tolerated.” Fenris stated. You slapped at him playfully and he laughed from the belly, such a joyous sound in such a warm place. Your heart felt as though it would burst from the joy.

* * *

**Author's Note:**

> Kudos and comments are much appreciated, *constructive* criticism is also welcomed. Thanks for reading!


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